


The Book of the Warrior

by chanaleh



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Faith of the Seven, sansan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-16
Updated: 2016-07-16
Packaged: 2018-07-24 08:59:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7502229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chanaleh/pseuds/chanaleh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>The Seven-Pointed Star</i> says way too much about fire and burning, but Sandor breaks the tension.</p><p>Timeframe: Mid-<i>ACoK</i>, sometime before the bread riots, but the Blackwater is clearly looming. Canon-compatible.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Book of the Warrior

The full harvest moon was still visible near the horizon when the first stirrings around the castle awakened Sansa. From her chamber window, even at this distance, she could see the red hangings covering the Great Sept, where some dozen young men were just concluding last night's vigil. Warrior's Day was considered a particularly auspicious day for squires to take their knight's vows. Later would come a tourney and a feast, but this morning the entire court would attend the observances in the sept. Sansa hurried to dress.

The readings from the Warrior's Book commenced as soon as the queen's procession was seated upstairs in the women's gallery. Cersei's place of honor in the western balcony was front row center; Sansa found herself jostled all the way to the forward corner, where she could peer down over the whole sept. Upon the dais, the High Septon faced out over a gigantic illuminated copy of _The Seven-Pointed Star_.

"The art of the Warrior is of vital importance to the Kingdom,” he began.

 _“It is a matter of life and death, a road either to safety or to ruin,”_ intoned the crowd of men below. Many knights brought small personal copies of the text, but all were expected to know the responses, or at least pretend to chime in. The common soldiers, usually unlettered, had only to listen and learn.

Behind the High Septon sat Joffrey in his great chair, looking bored. The Kingsguard surrounding him looked merely impassive, except for Sandor Clegane at the end of the row, almost directly beneath Sansa. Half-hidden behind a pillar, occluded from view of both Joffrey and Cersei, he was visibly rolling his eyes as the reading continued. Sansa knew the Warrior protected all fighting men, not just the knights he so despised; but the Hound was never a pious man, and his impatience showed.

She could hardly blame him. The litany was thirteen chapters long, to be followed by the endless vows of the new knights. Sansa shifted in her seat and wondered idly if the Hound would fight in the festival tourney. _Are the Kingsguard even eligible to fight? Can they take turns off-duty?_

“Move swiftly as the Wind; form densely as the Wood,” the High Septon was saying.

 _“Attack like the Fire; stand firm as the Mountain,”_ came the response.

Sansa saw Joffrey smirk toward Ser Gregor Clegane, the Hound's fearsome brother, the hulking Mountain That Rides. It was funny, almost. Yet the rest of the verse rang in her ears. _Attack like the Fire._ But it was the Mountain who had attacked like the fire, giving his younger brother the hideous burn scars that covered half his face. No one knew that story; the Hound had told it to Sansa himself one night in his cups, then threatened to kill her if she ever told a soul. _And I haven't._ She kept his secret close in her heart, and winced at any mention of burning within his earshot.

But the topic was far from over, another entire upcoming chapter devoted to it.

“There are five ways of attacking by fire,” droned the High Septon.

_“Burn the enemy soldiers in their camp.”_

“Burn their stores.”

_“Burn their baggage trains.”_

“Burn their arsenals.”

_“Rain fireballs on them.”_

These verses had never seemed quite so hideously real in the cozy solarium at Winterfell. Across the sept, Sansa could see Lord Tyrion listening intently, as if hatching some great insight. She shuddered and looked down at the Hound again.

 _How can he bear it?_ Standing there listening to all this talk of fire?

Sandor Clegane looked up just then, his eyes meeting hers. Instinctively her gaze darted away, then back.

He was still looking directly at her. Then, without warning, his arm shot up beside his head and pantomimed hanging himself: head lolling to one side, eyes rolled up, tongue lagging out.

Her eyes widened. _What if someone saw that?_ What price might he pay for disrupting the dreariest, solemnest part of the festival? She glanced around anxiously at Joffrey, the Queen, the High Septon; but no one seemed to have noticed.

She peeked back at the Hound. He had straightened up and was smirking at her now. In response to her anguished glare, he next drew an imaginary dagger and pretended to cut his own guts out.

His expression was so comical that a laugh almost escaped her. She bit her lip, clenched her hands, and looked away again until she was quite sure she would not laugh. She looked back.

Lighting his ravaged face was the closest thing to a smile she had ever seen.

Her heart leapt. She smiled back.

**Author's Note:**

> I've always wanted to see more of the actual rituals of the Faith of the Seven, considering its central importance to Westeros. We know there's a Maiden's Day and Book, so presumably the rest of the Seven would have their own Day and Book as well. The quotes I assigned to the Warrior's Book here are actually adapted from Sun Tzu's _The Art of War_.
> 
> Originally published [18 October 2014](http://sansaxsandor.livejournal.com/590488.html) in the [**sansaxsandor** LiveJournal community](http://sansaxsandor.livejournal.com/).


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